Forever Eighteen
by SilverReplay
Summary: Su Muqiu once had everything; now, he has nothing.


— _**Forever Eighteen —**_

 **Rating:** General Audiences

 **Warning:** Major Character Death

 **Category:** Gen

 **Fandoms:** 全职高手 | The King's Avatar (Cartoon); 全职高手 - 蝴蝶蓝 | Quánzhí Gāoshǒu - Húdié Lán

 **Relationship:** Sū Mùchéng & Sū Mùqiū

 **Character:** Sū Mùqiū

 **Additional Tags:** Happy Birthday Su Muqiu; birthday fic; Su Muqiu dies still; it was supposed to be a parallel fic to You Raise Me Up; but then things happened; no beta we die like men

 **Notes:**

For _JouissanceTKA_.

Twinsie, this is entirely your fault. Enjoy what your constant comments about #forevereighteen brought into existence.

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"Take me back," Su Muqiu pled the moment he opened his eyes to a world far too bright to be the evening he last remembered.

"Darling," a voice he thought he would never hear again called out, "you're here with us now, earned yourself a spot here beside us."

There was no other voice beside hers, besides the person he once knew as 'mother,' because there was never a 'father' in the first place, never anyone but a faceless stranger.

Su Muqiu turned to face the woman, with her long hair reminisce of Su Mucheng, with her kind eyes the same shade as his, with her long, shapeless white dress similar to the artwork he had seen in Ancient Greece—that was not his mother.

His mother was hardworking, hair always piled up on top of her head in a messy bun. Her eyes were always kind, but they were also tired. Working to support the two of them after his father died, dealing with the looks and judgment, it was no wonder she succumbed to stress and overwork less than two years later.

After that, it was just him and Su Mucheng against the world.

Su Mucheng never knew their mother or father, having been too young to remember the stories their mother would tell him late at night, whenever he asked where their father was.

He used to tell them to her, the little bits he could remember…

And then he stopped.

Perhaps it was because he simply became more cynical, more jaded, growing up. It was hard to smile at a world that you knew would never accept you. It was hard to smile and grin and act as if everything was all right because it wasn't. It was hard talking about things that simply brought more sadness, more bitterness, more cynicism.

He didn't want her to become like him, to lose that spark of hope and innocence, so he stopped.

No one else he met while working illegal part time job after illegal part time job worried about putting food on the table as desperately as he did.

He didn't mind never reaching his full height potential, didn't mind his vision deteriorating faster than it should, didn't mind the cough that sometimes wracked his body because of the heavy smog he had inhaled.

He minded Su Mucheng suffering from poor health, so he did his best so she didn't.

She was the reason he woke up each day with inexhaustible enthusiasm.

She was the reason he woke up without hating the world—the world couldn't be completely horrible if they gave him Su Mucheng, right?

And now, he had left her, left her with his best friend, perhaps, but the crux of the matter was that he. left. her.

"Take. Me. Back." Each word left his mouth with bite, a hint of a growl, frustration and determination swirling within.

"Your time on earth is done, my son," the ghost pretending to be his mother said. It was the only thing preventing him from outright attacking the ghostly figure, because some part of him, the young, childish part that always trailed after his mother like a little duckling, still obeyed that motherly tone on instinct.

Taking a deep breath, Su Muqiu closed his eyes, but the blinding white outside refused to be ignored.

"You aren't my mother. She died 14 years ago. Show yourself, specter of death." A flash of darkness muted the brightness visible through his eyelids for a moment.

A beat, then two.

Su Muqiu slowly opened his eyes, seeing the true form beneath the visage of his mother now.

"Death," he greeted casually, even as his hands shook slightly, even as his insides curled with the instinctive fear of death he had—for if he died, what would become of Su Mucheng?

What would become of Su Mucheng now that he died?

"Let me go back," Su Muqiu requested. "Please," he tacked on, as an afterthought because this was the conceptual form of Death, after all.

"Your time on earth is over, Su Muqiu," Death repeated itself. "Death is barred from no one. No one escapes Death."

Su Muqiu grimaced, because there was no arguing this fact. "They don't even have to see me," he bargained. "Let me see how they are doing without me there."

"Do you see yourself above others?" Death asked.

"No!" Su Muqiu exclaimed.

"Then why do you ask for more, for things no other has been granted?"

Su Muqiu fell silent, not knowing how to respond to this.

Silence befell the plateau the two of them floated on, floated—for Su Muqiu could not remember ever sitting up, ever standing, just existing there in this world with no darkness except for the being that personified Death.

In this world where he could only see brightness but not light, in this world where he began hating the world for taking him away from his sister, for taking him away from his dream, for taking him away from his best friend, for taking him away from the fledgling family of a team…

In this world, Su Muqiu realized he had nothing.

No response he could say would make this being change its mind.

No argument he formulated would grant him another chance at life.

No hope he had would make things magically better.

He had nothing.

"Fine," Su Muqiu conceded, all the fight fleeing his figure. "Take me to the afterlife, to oblivion, to wherever people go after dying.

"Take me away, away from everything I ever loved, from everything I will ever love.

"Take me away and be as heartless as you always are, Death."

Death looked at him, amused. Even though Su Muqiu could see no face, could see nothing but a shadow of darkness, he could sense the amusement.

"You speak as if Death is anything else but Death."

"…"

"Death is barred from no one. Death is simply Death. To think otherwise is deluding oneself, Su Muqiu."

Su Muqiu sighed and closed his eyes, waiting for the darkness he was more than ready to welcome. If he wasn't able to see Su Mucheng, wasn't able to see Ye Xiu, wasn't able to play Glory ever again, then oblivion was the best option. He would rather never think again than keep on thinking of what-ifs.

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There was no darkness.

There was no light.

There was nothing.

After all, Su Muqiu had nothing, so all he would get was nothing.

…Right?

Nothing, but he once had everything.

He once had a younger sister he loved with his entire being, who was the reason for his existence.

He once had a best friend who was always there for him, an equal, someone to share his dream with.

He once had a dream, a goal, a vision—Glory called to him, still called to him, but it was now forever out of his reach.

Su Muqiu once had everything, but now he was stuck—forever eighteen.

Forever barred from all that he ever wanted but never truly appreciated.

Forever frozen at this age of eighteen, alone, forgotten by all but those close to him.

Autumn Tree—who would remember?

Dancing Rain—never gracing the stage.

One Autumn Leaf—alone, with no equal.

Su Mucheng—orphaned completely.

Ye Xiu—left with one half of a dream.

Su Muqiu never had regrets till now.

He never regretted his parents' deaths, never regretted being orphaned, having always seen the bright side of things.

Su Muqiu never regretted till now—forever eighteen.

Forever eighteen, having nothing—but once, having everything.

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F̵̢̨̧̧̡̡̧̛̰͚͉̪̟̪̱͉̫̦̥͚̩̬̜͕̥̦͍̬̪͖͓̻̩̺̲̰̣̱̭̳̥͉̝͓̘͔̺͙̟̱̻͎̝̫̦͉̮̬̲͇͍̹̑̈́̂̆̓́̑͋̿͋̍̈̊̀̏̈́͌̅͐̂̃́́̂͌̀́̎́̉͋̈́̉͑̃͂̈͆̃͛̇̆̆̎̒̈̈̒͒̀̅̐̉̈͌̐͐͘̕͜͜͝͝͝͠ͅͅơ̸̡̨̨̧̧̨̛̛̪͎̭̞̞͓̠̪̺̫͔̳͈̼̗̪̯̪̥̘̩̦̰̦͚̖̫͎͕͖̫͚͍̫͖̤͙͉͍̣̪͕͉̤̳̖͚̜͆̐̂͗͆̓̓̊̎̍̓̂͂̎̆͂̂̇̽͒̈́͑̈́̊̾̏̔͒̋́͆̐̾͂͌̀̏̕͘͘̚͜͠ŗ̴̜͔̹̱͚̦̲̜͎̅͊̈͐̍͛̾͂̂̽͐̄́͑̔̾̿́̓̚͘͘͘̕͠͝͝.̵̨̧̧̡̧̢̧̢̢̡̢̛̤̜͙̺͙͉̦̤̙̼̳͉̖̪̭̣̣̙̥͉̼̖͍̤͕͚̙̜͇̭̮̭̗̼̣̜̱̻̤̲̥͓̼͍̳͔͍̝̓͑̀̑̄͌͒̀̓́̔̽̇́̓̅̂͋̅͋͗̿̿̉̊̅̑̑̋̍̈́̓̍̀̅̈́̈́̇͋͐̔̐͛̇̀͆̍̕͘̕̕̕͜͜͜͠͝͝.̸̨̨͇͙͔̦̯̥͇̘͓̣͔̲̪̪̼̺̮͇̼͚͚̺̬̙̯̣̠͒̋̈́̃̎̌̃̌̂̔̃̽͒̓͆͊̽͊̒̊̏̏̌͒̄̕͘̕͝͝ͅ.̴̧̢̡̡̨̖̞̹̟͈̪̝̟̞̠̳̘͕͙̟̰͈̯̝͕̟̞͖̙͕͔̜͔̻͇̠̬̬͎̮̲͇̩͔͙͚̥̣̥͓̪̗̠͕̭̘̲̝̲̋̀̽͜͝ͅͅͅę̵̨̢̡̨̱͚̞̗̠͈̱̻̩͉̹͈̞̼̖̻̝͇͎͔̠̜͇̗̻͙̞̘̝̮͙͓̺̳̦̼͍͚̖͓̫̫̘̼͉͈̗̻̝͉̳͈̯̼̮̩̲̗̦͇̬̺͇̐͌̎̃̅̈̅͑̉̈̀̏͊̃͊̆̄͒̌̃́̃̓̉̔̂͂́̈́̊̋͊̊̏̕̕͜͝͠v̴̡̨̧̧̧̗̯̺͇̩͇̥̮̻̥̠̝̺͔̮̉͑̄̽͋͌͋͂̑̅̈́͋̈́̐̇̊̌͋̒͆̈̇̋̇̓̈́̍͂͊͑͑̆̍̈̎͒͒̈́͘̚͘͘͝͝ͅë̷̮͍̲͕̗́̽̑̂̍̍͋̈́͂͌̉̏ŗ̴̡̹̲̖̫͇͎̫̤̹̮̣͓̖̤͚̝̟̻̣̩̰̩̗̗͇̩̰̤͙̦̯͍̦͈̺͊̋͛͊̎̂̀̉̐̄͆̾̾͋̓͒͛͘͜͜͝.̵̣̩̪̝̦̱͔̣̪̙̞̰̯̜͗͝.̷̡̨̨̨̨̯̱̝͚͖̰̻͖̘̥̤͚̥͍̠͇̟͔͍͓͈̮̞̘̪̙̠̫̯̲̱̰͓̯̜̩͓̠͇̯̿̈̄͐̌͐͂̃̈́̂̈̾̈̊̈́͂͆̈́̀̅͑̑̾̽̄͌̅̃̑͐̐̾͒͛͐̎͗̔̐͒̈͘̕͘͘̚͜͜͝͝͝͠͠͝͠ͅͅͅͅ.̵̨͓͉̗͖͇͖͔͕̩̝̮̓̔͊͗̈͑̾̒̆̓͊̚͜ȩ̵̧̡͎̞̞̪̰̫̘̼̖͚̘͙̗̞̜͍̝̳̭̻̺̳̟̲̜͚̤̭͚̝̑̿̃̇̒͌̋̈́͗̈̃̿̏̈́̃̏̆̈́͊̈͐͂͒̃̔̎̊̽̿̇̿̂̐̐̑̾̐̔̉̏͂͑̈́́̆̾͐̋̈̑̃̐̽̇͛̆̕̚̚̕͘̕̕͝͝į̵̛̛̛̛̛̲̫̗̗̱̘̝͇̩̯̱͔̖͓̦̼̪̟̫̹̣̱̙̯͇̻͎̹͇͍̰̳͈̺̜̝͎̗̪͓̭̜̤͇̱͗̿͑̾̂͆͐̒̇̋̽̓̆̇̉̒̓̓̇͒̈́̄͆͋̇͆͊͒̑͆̋͋͑̍͌̋̽̓̉̄̓̋̍͆̽͐̌̄͐͂͋̕͝g̵̡̲̠̰̞͎̫͉̫̻̻̼̝̓͐̊͂̅̆̓̔̄̏̔͑̏̇̕͜͠͝ͅh̴̢̡̢̧̛͎̥̘̪͖̟̯͚̝̲͈̝̲̼̬͖̪͈̦͐̉̋̅̿̏͝t̸͉̤͌͆̄̓̒.̴̢̡̨̡̢̨̛̛̥͙̪̩̯̖͍̣͉̲̱̼̲̪̙̬͎͍͚̻̱̩͎̼̮̥͇̮̘͖͈̳̹̝̝̩͉̤̻̯̲̪̜̺͙̰̗̜̘̗̤̟͈͕͓̰͙̣̗̑̇̆̌̒͗̊͂͋̉̉̿̾͊̿̌͒͘͜͜͝ͅ.̴̢̡̨̢̨̧̢̨͇͍͉̗̝̘̠̮̼̠͚̤̠͚̱̯̪̗̼̹̜̮͉̗̯̖͍͉̖̺̭̭͎̹̝̳͎̹̏͆̈͂̀̀͂̊̆̌̍̐͒̇͌̐̽͊͛̌̈́̈́͒͐̅͑̊̈͆̎̾̋̏̈̆̒̊̍͛͒̋̈́̍͛̏̃̌͗̚̚̕͘͝͝͝͠͝ͅͅ.̷̡̨̡̨̡̼͓̯̻̝̣̲̪͎̻̯͙̫͚͖̥̱̼̮̹̠͎̬͕̰̜͕͈̩̻͎̱̯̘̦͖̬̙͕̪̠̩̻̱̘̱̻͍̮̗͍̯̬̈́͂̎̓̕͘ͅţ̶̨̧̧̧̢͉̖͈͍̗̥͔̺̮̹͍̦̘̤̞̙͖̦͚̮̝͇͍͖͙̜̳̰̫̝͓̖͚̥̰̬̭̮̤͜͜e̸̡̢̡̛̛͕̱͖̩͎̪̝̣͎̦̩̪̩̫̥̱͈̱̝̗͔̺̺̣͍̱͔̮͔̩̱͔̪̒̏͒͂̾͌̀̂̃̇̓̃͋̃͑͒̽̂͛́̈́̾̉̒̉̃́̈̽̾͆̑̈́̌̓̆̒̏̚̕͝͝͠͝͝ͅȩ̶̡̨̡͎͙̪̳̪̪̹̣͈̰̙̼͍̰͙͉͕͔̗̩̺̤̘̝̺̦̣̼̠͔̳͉̖͉̗͍͓͕͓̮̗̬̬̱͎̺͉͚̜͇̼̤͉̜̣̪͉̫̼̃̒̊ņ̶̢̧͕̗̝͎̼̫̻̫̫̪͚͓͈͕̫͚̹̬̼̣͚͔͚͖̩͚͈̰͚͔̰̦̬̙͈̹̖̯̣̟̪̭͂̐̇͐̑͛͆͋̈́̉̏͊̈́̄͑͆̒̔̐͘͝͠ͅͅ.̷̛̛͖̰̠̪̩͗͌̀̌̇̑̄̌̍́͛͒̆̍̃̔̂̿̌̂͘͠͝͠.̸̧͈̩͔͎̰̰̗̱̬̱̱̬̗̍̃̂̀̒̈́̐͌̔͜͝

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Su Muqiu knew no more.


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